


The Next Step

by aravenwood



Series: Hard Headed [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Aramis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 19:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18212849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Aramis is released from hospital and returns to the scene of the attack.Part 4 of the "Hard Headed" saga.





	The Next Step

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy! So originally the next instalment was going to be a long fic, but I changed my mind and decided to post in shorter ones instead. And I'm almost at the end of my semester - I finished my last assignment about...half an hour ago? - and decided to work on this fic.
> 
> It's also a little more lighthearted than the others. Only a little.
> 
> Enjoy!

Aramis was getting better, that was what his neurologist had said on the day he was due to be released. Athos had sat silently throughout the appointment, trying and failing not to wince every time Aramis failed to remember something that should come easily; where he worked, where he lived, Porthos’s last name. They hadn’t known each other long, admittedly – it was only eighteen months since he’d stepped up and joined their little team – but these were all things that he should have known without even having to think. The fear which clouded his expression every time he failed to answer a question was almost as worrying as the fear itself.

“It’ll come back eventually,” Porthos reassured as he slung an arm around Aramis and led him towards the car. Athos walked a few steps behind them, his mind still in the doctor’s office. The man had said that the lost memories could come back at any time, and that it was a good idea to try and remind Aramis of what his life had been before, of everything that was important to him. Which sounded like it was easy, but there were still things about Aramis that they knew nothing about – his life before them was a secret between him and Treville, no one else.

But did even Aramis know anymore, or was it a secret to him as much as them now?

Athos had slowed even further as he lost himself in his thoughts, and by the time he reached the car, Porthos had already helped Aramis into the backseat and climbed into the passenger side. He smiled at Athos as he slipped behind the wheel. “Are we still sticking with the original plan?” he asked.

“Yes,” Athos answered shortly.

“You hear that, ‘Mis? We’ll head to yours first, let you take a look around and grab some stuff, then we’ll go back to mine and Athos can cook for us,” Porthos reported over his shoulder.

“Actually,” Athos said, “I did not say I would cook.”

Porthos groaned loudly. “Athos,” he whined, “’Mis’s favourite food is your lasagne, and Dr Hoffman said that we need to remind him of the things that are important to him. You need to cook it! Doctor’s orders!” He sounded so much like Aramis normally would that Athos’s chest ached.

In the backseat, Aramis was watching the exchange with an expression of slight befuddlement. His eyes twitched between the two, eyebrows so high that they would have disappeared under his fringe…if he’d still had his fringe. Porthos had cut the rest of his hair off after he’d woken up confused by his peculiar lack of it on one side. Athos had yet to get used to the shaved head.

“Aramis,” Athos called, “what do you think?”

Soft brown eyes met his in the rearview mirror, but they were filled with nerves and uncertainty and disappeared after only a few seconds. “I don’t know,” Aramis mumbled and let his head fall back against the headrest. His eyes fell shut and his breathing slowed, but it was clear from the tension in his shoulders and the slight hitch in his breaths that he was faking sleep in an attempt to hide from a situation which made him uncomfortable.

Porthos turned to look at him, then locked eyes with Athos. He looked worried, and Athos couldn’t blame him. But the larger man finally shrugged and said loudly, “you’ll love it, ‘Mis. Best thing you’ll ever eat. Also the only reason I keep him around.”

Athos snorted. “You “keep me around”, do you?”

“Just like you keep me around because of my dashing good looks and quick wit.”

“Alright, “Aramis”.”

Porthos snorted. “Oh god he’s rubbing off on me,” he said into his hands and threw his head back, the embodiment of distress.

In the backseat, Aramis huffed out a laugh. “Well I am rather dashing,” he offered without bothering to open his eyes.

The surprised laugh which burst from Athos’s own chest was more like a bark, and he couldn’t help but stare at the younger man in the mirror. For the first time since the accident, he could see a little bit of the real Aramis. His relief was so overwhelming that if he wasn’t driving, and if he was alone, he was sure that he could have cried.

\--

“I lived here?” Aramis asked softly as he stood in the centre of his living room, staring at the pool of dried blood which had soaked into his rug. He looked small and afraid in his own home, the place he should have felt most comfortable in, the place he should have been safest. Seeing the blood seemed to be telling him that it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t safe at all. His arms were wrapped around himself, a gesture which made Athos shoot Porthos a sideways glance without even thinking – the larger man was watching Aramis with longing in his eyes, as well as pain that Aramis believed that the only comfort would come from himself. But he and Athos had discussed how they would treat Aramis before they’d picked him up at the hospital, and they’d decided that crowding him – or even touching him – wouldn’t be right at first, not when in his mind he barely even knew them. It would only scare him off.

Athos was regretting the decision they’d made. If there was one thing Aramis needed right now, it was comfort. “Do you want to see your room?” he asked softly, more out of a desire to take Aramis away from the blood splatters than anything else.

“Hmm?” Aramis wouldn’t look away. He barely even seemed to be listening, his eyes wide and unblinking and his gaze a million miles away. If Athos didn’t know any better, he would say that Aramis was remembering. He couldn’t help but hold his breath as he watched and waited, wishing so desperately for this to be the end, for everything to be this simple.

“What happened to me?”

Aramis had asked that question several times in the hospital, back when he’d first woken up and seemed to forget events from even a few moments before. Back then he’d looked so afraid that neither Athos nor Porthos would leave his side for anything short of a quick bathroom break – and Athos was sure that neither of them had ever pissed so fast in their lives. But now Aramis didn’t even look afraid – he just looked curious. Determination crossed his features but his eyes never regained their focus. He stared at the blood like he thought that it would tell him everything.

Athos exchanged glances with Porthos. He could tell from the larger man’s expression that he too regretted their decision to bring Aramis here. Or maybe he regretted not cleaning up first. Or he regretted ever leaving Aramis in the first place, because that was really what had led to all of this in the first place. Porthos was blaming himself, somehow under the impression that he should have known that something was going to happen to Aramis. Athos thought it was a ridiculous thought, but nothing he said made any difference.

“You were…you were attacked, ‘Mis. Someone broke in, beat you up and hit you over the head. Athos found you passed out on the floor,” Porthos explained softly.

Athos nodded along. “Right where you were standing.”

It was those words which seemed to snap Aramis out of his trance. He suddenly stumbled backwards a couple of steps until his knees hit the corner of the coffee table. His hands shot out to steady himself but his balance was already a little off and before he could even try to catch himself he was falling.

“Shit!” Porthos yelped the moment he saw Aramis’s knees buckle. He lunged forwards, arms outstretched even as he failed to catch the other man before he hit the ground. A look of absolute panic crossed his face as he dropped to a crouch next to Aramis, who was barely holding himself up off the floor. “’Mis?” he breathed, his hands hovering an inch from Aramis’s shoulders.

There was no verbal response, but Aramis lifted one trembling hand to rub at his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled a few moments later, after he seemed to have regained some control over himself. “I was just…dizzy, that’s all.” He looked up and his eyes landed on one of Porthos’s hands. His brows furrowed and he glanced uneasily between Athos and Porthos. The hesitation in his eyes was yet another blow – Aramis was a tactile sort of guy, and seeing him anxious about such a gentle touch wasn’t right.

None of this was right.

But Aramis was also a man who liked to surprise people, and that was what he did. The hesitation didn’t leave his eyes even as he shifted a little to the left and leaned back, back until his shoulder hit Porthos’s – the first time he’d initiated any kind of touch since the accident.

Surprise flashed across Porthos’s features, but he would never look a gift horse in the mouth. He wrapped one arm around Aramis’s chest, then the other, and pulled lightly until the man’s full weight was leaning on him. It was an awkward kind of hug, both of them so tense and yet determined to see it through.

But if Athos ignored the tension, ignored the blood splatters on the floor, ignored the tears which slid silently down Porthos’s cheeks, he could almost pretend like nothing bad had ever happened.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
